ABOVE THE LAW - BOOK FOUR
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Danica St. Como's
The Men of Sanctuary Series
Above The Law ~ Book Four
(Cover Design by Fiona Jayde)
Game warden Abigail O'Connell and Glennon Garrett, security & surveillance expert, fall hard for each other while working a protection detail at Sanctuary lodge. After the crisis ends, there's no reason to remain hands off. The hot sex commences, even with Glennon's shattered leg in a cast and ruined shoulder in a sling.
When handsome Deputy Joe Collins uses the house key Abigail gave him, he unintentionally catches Abigail and Glennon naked in her bed in a rather compromising position—several positions, actually.
Abigail and Joe are best friends, buddies--and they made a sacred pact never to hit on each other. Now, breaking free of her self-imposed celibacy, Abigail is suddenly enjoying hot wild sex with a buff, muscled macho dude, former Marine RECON.
Joe's difficulty arises not only with jealousy over Abigail going from sexual famine to sensual feast, but with his unexpected attraction to her partner, Glennon.
When the three get rip-roaring toasted during a straight tequila night, Jose Cuervo flies and inhibitions die.
As their past experiences are raised from the dead, how will the two men react to each other--and to Abigail--in the harsh light of day? Who is the stalker in their midst who can reveal their most intimate secrets and ruin their lives?
(Warning ~ This Book Contains Sexually Explicit Scenes Described in Graphic Detail,
featuring a Male/Male/Female Ménage a Trois relationship and Male/Male action)
Above The Law - Book Four
"'I'm much too young to feel this damn old.' Man, Garth Brooks had the words right, that's for sure." Glennon Garrett didn't expect a response, so he felt no surprise when he didn't get one.
In the shower stall, he balanced on his stronger leg. He made quick use of the soapy washcloth, avoided putting too much weight on his still-healing thigh. After he rinsed and shut off the water, he had a hell of a time trying to wrap the towel around his waist without straining his bad shoulder.
He gave up, stayed naked, used a second towel to dry his hair. That he could manage, single-handedly.
He checked himself in the vanity mirror. Running his hand over his jaw, he knew he needed a shave, but didn't want to take the time. His blue eyes were a bit smoky, a bit bloodshot, but lack of sleep tended to do that. Sex or sleep—is that even a choice?
Hair's getting long—time for a trim. Then again, Abigail loved to play with his hair while they were all over each other. He grinned. Their sex had been wild, uninhibited. His cock twitched in agreeable response. Maybe a trim wasn't so important.
He leaned against the wall to balance himself, then spread his legs wide to dry thighs, cock, and testicles. He closed his eyes as he toweled water droplets from his hanging sex, remembered how totally hot Abigail had been that morning. How she carefully crawled over his reclined body to protect his leg, then snugged down against his groin in a perfect union of cock and pussy. Remembered how she rolled her hips over his, raked his good shoulder like a she-demon, cried out as she came.
Not a half a heartbeat later, he'd shot his load deep inside her. In her overheated eagerness, Abigail had screamed his name. She wasn't usually a talker, so he'd kinda liked hearing his name yelled with such spontaneous zeal.
He spread a towel on the closed toilet lid, then sat. With the damp bath towel draped over his good thigh—not the shattered thigh with its stainless steel plate and surgical screws—he slowly stroked his growing cock. He didn't need to come again, but he enjoyed the image of Abigail doing the stroking.
Damn, he really got off on how confident she acted in the sack. If he believed in such things—which he didn't—he'd be convinced she'd been a man in a past life, a warrior. In addition to being competent in the real world, she had a take-no-prisoners approach between the sheets. She knew exactly how to handle his body, knew what felt fantastic with little input from him, and remembered everything.
She made sex totally rip-roaring volcanic. On a scale of one to ten, Abigail O'Connell, Game Warden in the fairly uncivilized western region of the great state of Maine, proved to be at least a twelve. Maybe a fifteen. Oh yeah. I'm a lucky man.
Maybe he'd pushed the situation a bit by his unexpected arrival, but he'd felt the urge to know where their relationship stood. If he ran his business by waiting around for action to happen, nothing would ever get done, nor would he be as successful.
His thigh and shoulder still ached when he drove for any length of time, making a ten-hour-plus road trip from Jersey to moose country out of the question. Instead, he grabbed a red-eye flight, then called Abigail to meet him at the regional airport, just over an hour from the quaint, touristy town of Catamount Lake.
Her GMC Sierra 1500 four-wheel-drive work truck didn't exactly provide a posh ride, but the scenic trip to her place had been quiet, pleasant. Until she parked the Jimmy in her driveway.
Abigail had practically leaped from the driver's seat, hurried around to open Glennon's door, ostensibly to help him out. He got as far as placing his strong leg on the ground, then the hot kissing commenced.
By the time they'd tripped up the stairs to the porch, then through the front door, clothes flew in all directions. Abigail led him, nearly dragged him, down the hall to her bedroom.
Damn, what an outstanding greeting that had been! Then again. And, again.
Glennon shook off the images, anxious to return to Abigail. He released the half-hearted grip he had on his cock, finished toweling himself dry. At peace again, his sex hung quietly. His ripped-to-shreds rotator cuff still hurt like a motherfucker after the morning's exertions, so he slipped back into the shoulder sling, awkwardly securing the Velcro tabs.
Left arm, right leg—damn, I'm an absolute train wreck. At least his tongue wasn't damaged, nor his cock. He wiggled the fingers of his right hand. Yup, they work, too.
He'd use whatever talents he had to keep that slinky, blonde spitfire satisfied. She'd not said or done anything to indicate a lack in his prowess, but Glennon convinced himself that if he failed to perform to her satisfaction—since she'd broken free of her years-long sabbatical from sexual activities—he'd find his luggage on the front porch, along with a one-way ticket back to Jersey.
Mustn't have that. He considered. Maybe Adam and Lucian had found the enlightened path to long-term satisfaction: two men to care for one woman. At least, someone would eventually get some shut-eye.
He thought he heard a noise coming from the direction of the hall. But when he stopped moving to listen, all he heard were voices from the TV weather channel playing in Abigail's bedroom. Must just be me, hearing things. Marine training. Always suspicious.
All shiny and clean, Glennon limped back to the bedroom to rouse his totally sated lover for work. He considered that. Work, maybe. Another session of hot sex, one can only hope. More sex meant no time to think.
* * * * *
Catamount Lake Police Deputy Joe Collins couldn't catch his breath. He jerked the wheel of his pickup truck and braked, slid onto the gravel shoulder of the narrow road. He stumbled from the vehicle, slammed the door, leaned against the fender.
Joe became conscious of a sharp pain in his hand, looked down. He still clutched Abigail's front door key on its deer-head cloisonné fob. His grip had been so tight that the buck's antler points punctured his palm, drew blood.
What the hell? He wiped away the sticky, red mess with a clean handkerchief, shoved the key into his breast pocket. "Well, this just sucks giant hairy moose worms."
Metallic ticks sounded as the truck's engine cooled in the brisk April morning air. He finally realized that some growly noises came from his gut, not the truck. Dealing with two issues at once, he walked around to the passenger side. He rummaged in the glove box for an adhesive bandage, covered the small tear in his hand.
From the waxed paper bakery bag on the seat, he retrieved a fresh blueberry muffin. Then he chose one of the two large containers of coffee from the cardboard beverage tray—the two-cream, two-sugar coffee, not the black coffee with three sugars.But Joe didn't know if any substance, legal or not, would bring his pounding pulse under control.
He didn't actually remember grabbing the coffee tray and the bakery bag from Abigail's front porch railing as he bailed out of the house, but their presence proved that he had. Talk about being on autopilot. Wow.
Finished with his extra shift, Joe had picked up coffee and muffins from the town bakery, his custom when he covered graveyard for one of the married officers, then headed to Abigail's house. She usually worked days, but basically made her own hours. Unless she had a meeting, she could leave the house when she pleased. Work or no work, she tended to be an early riser.
Depending on the time of year, they'd sit at her kitchen table or on her front porch with their coffee and fresh-baked breakfast goodies, Joe still in uniform, Abigail in a skinny little tank top and pajama pants.
Sometimes she'd throw on a bathrobe, but her high, full breasts remained objects of beauty in the chilly morning air. The long, blonde silk of her hair, loosed from its usual ponytail, slalomed down her neck and shoulders.
The friends made a pact long ago not to hit on each other, but that didn't mean Joe couldn't appreciate his companion's attributes.
This morning—well, this morning had been different. Different, as in weird and bizarre different. This morning, as usual, Joe quietly climbed the steps to Abigail's door in case she still slept, then let himself in. What wasn't usual was her scream.
Not enough time to call for backup. He drew his service pistol, crept down the hall, past the living room on his left, past the bathroom on his right, toward her bedroom, also on the right, checking each room as he went. The guest room on the left sat directly across from her bedroom. He took a defensive stance, then two quick breaths to prepare to charge the entrance to her room.
The opened door gaped about a foot, just enough to inspect the scene. In half a heartbeat, as he made ready to charge, he observed a naked, sweaty Abigail, sliding down the sizeable pole of a man's cock, crying out as an apparently intense orgasm hit her, broadside.
Her partner lay on his back with his right leg straight out, his opposite arm and shoulder in a pale blue sling strapped to his torso. Mary sweet holy mother of Christ. Garrett, the surveillance guy. Why isn't he still in Jersey?
With his free hand, Garrett gripped Abigail's shoulder as he humped up into her writhing pussy. "Grab my balls, baby. Pull them for me, squeeze them!"
Abigail twisted, lowered her hand under the cheeks of her ass until she could reach his testicles. She tugged at the tight-looking flesh as if the skin was taffy. Garrett came with an almighty roar.
Hoping the lovers wouldn't hear him over their own gasping breaths, Joe had slipped back into the living room to consider his next move. He doubted he could escape unheard. Abigail, who had the sharp ears of a vixen, currently shagged a former Marine Recon specialist.
All right then, change in tactics. He would sneak back out the front door, re-enter the house as he always did, make enough noise to alert the couple, then appear surprised. The surprise won't be an act, that's for damn sure. He could plead ignorance of her new living arrangements, which would be the unvarnished truth.
Joe had watched Glennon limp into the bathroom. Then, as he listened to the shower running, he contemplated the best way to feign lack of knowledge, as well as save face.
Before he took the opportunity to move, the shower stopped. Damn,talk about a really quick rinse. Then again, I'd be hurrying to get back to the bedroom as soon as possible. Joe leaned into the hall, saw the bathroom door open. The steam cleared out, quickly.
Joe watched, fascinated, as Glennon began to stroke his own cock, unaware that he had voyeuristic company.
Instead of fleeing down the hallway and out, Joe pulled back into the living room. He removed his hat to be less conspicuous, then peered around the woodwork to unashamedly watch the other man, mesmerized.
A few years older than Joe, Glennon stood taller, broader, more muscular—definitely prime male animal. Even Garrett's scars and injuries didn't detract from his powerful frame, from his sleek, tanned skin. His body hair matched the light chestnut hair on his head, but with darker swirls at his groin, trailing down and around his heavy cock.
When Glennon got up and turned to leave the bathroom, Joe pulled back again. At the count of three, he took a chance, stole a quick look, watched the man walk, naked, toward the bedroom. With super-defined lats and back muscles, narrow waist, and tight ass, the guy looked like a sketch of perfect musculature by da Vinci—even with his arm in a sling, and using a cane for support.
Glennon must have said something when he reached the bedroom. Abigail laughed. Then, Joe heard her say, "If you pull your britches on, I'll drive you out to Sanctuary before I head to the office to catch up on work I've neglected since you landed. You can visit with Adam and Lucian while I do my damn job."
Then one of them turned up the volume on the TV, so Abigail could listen to the national weather service report. Joe knew that checking the weather comprised one of her morning rituals.
Under cover of the new background noise, Joe recalculated his options, then soft-footed out of the house. He eased his Dakota from the parking area, cursed his decision to install dual exhaust pipes under the truck—better performance, but definitely louder—as he slowly idled down the driveway until he was, hopefully, out of earshot. Only then did he press lightly on the accelerator. Damn, that had been too close for comfort.
Abigail wasn't shy. Long and lean, sleek, fit and trim, she had great tits and long, natural, blonde hair. Her pussy's perfect triangle of blonde curls was a shade darker. She didn't parade around the house naked, or flaunt her nudity, but Joe had seen her au naturale before, usually due to a quick towel drop between drying and dressing. Then they'd take off for a meal, a movie, sometimes even grocery shopping.
Growing up, Joe had developed from cute and adorable to handsome, poised, and self-confident. Yet he envied Abigail's level of comfort with her body, her self-assurance, the satisfaction she took from her job and her life. She totally rocked.
Abigail had been celibate by choice, as had he, for at least the few years they'd known each other. His stated reason: none of the eligible young women in town tripped his trigger. That had been his story, and he'd stuck with the tale. Easier to explain, and something people understood. He wasn't exactly sure why Abigail had chosen her path—her decision remained the one subject they never discussed. Whatever the reasons, they'd been comfortable with their arrangement. Or, at least, they had been, pre-Glennon Garrett.
With his pulse finally under control and his half-finished coffee cold, Joe leaned against the truck fender with his eyes closed. His imagination went wild as he contemplated sliding his hands over every inch of . . . Glennon's buff body. When his cock began to stir at the notion, Joe shook his head, emptied the cold coffee onto the ground, climbed back into his pickup, pointed its nose toward town. Toward the safety of his own home.
He couldn't clear his head. What the hell is that all about?
* * * * *
As Abigail drove toward town, all her senses agreed that her best friend Joe had been in her house that morning. The soft sounds that might have been footsteps, the smooth, fresh scent of his aftershave in the hallway, the new, barely-there tire tracks in the dirt and gravel driveway that didn't belong to her vehicle.
If he'd been to the house, why hadn't he made himself known?
Oh, yeah, think about that for a moment, idiot. With a strange man in your bed, and you impaled by his Maypole, howling like a wild thing. What did you expect Joe to do? Knock on the bedroom door and announce himself?
Glennon wasn't exactly a total stranger, but not anyone with whom Joe had spent much time. Garrett usually hung out at Sanctuary with Adam Stone and Lucian Duquesne, but he hadn't been back since late last summer. Not since the accident. Plus, Lorelei became a permanent lodge resident, and those boys weren't sharing. An itty bitty, brand-new baby at Sanctuary, Adam and Lorelei's son, added to the confusion, and Abigail knew Joe didn't like confusion.
About a week prior to Glennon's unexpected arrival, Joe had picked up Abigail at her place, then driven her to Sanctuary. Both of them had been invited to the lodge for newborn Matthew's welcome home party.
Abigail had observed, once again, the ease with which Lorelei had settled in, how she and Adam and Lucian moved so comfortably around the lodge. Now, with the new baby in residence, she watched Lorelei and Lucian handle the little bunkin as if they'd been partners for years—even though Matthew belonged to Adam and Lorelei, and all three were first-time parents.
When Lorelei presented the adorable newborn, Abigail felt a fleeting twinge of yearning in her womb—a first-ever experience—then, an equally fleeting twinge of jealousy in her gut. Could home, hearth, and family be missing from her life? Were those things she needed?
Matthew had a shock of black hair that stuck straight up, rosy little cheeks, dusky blue eyes that would no doubt become bright blue like his daddy's. Smiling, dressed in his tiny camo onesie, with matching knit hat and booties, Matthew outdid any other baby in the delightful department.
As surreptitiously as possible, Abigail had sneaked a glance or two at her best friend, Joe, and wondered about having a child. His child. Would she be as happily pregnant as Lorelei had been? Keep her athletic body in fantastic shape, as Lorelei had done? Be such a glowing mom?
Lucian, member of a large energetic family as well as uncle to a gaggle of nieces and nephews, had already proved to be the best step-dad. Adam, on the other hand, still gazed at his tiny son with a puzzled expression—probably waiting for his offspring to speak in complete sentences, or grow to a more reasonable, unbreakable size. Maybe begin to shave, or reach college age.
Joe's from a large family, too—he's probably good dad material. Hmm.
Her thoughts spun like an army of hamsters on wheels. Abigail reached town before she realized she'd left her own driveway. Damn, I'd better pay attention before I run over someone.
People walked with their coffees and newspapers, runners swerved around other pedestrians as they headed toward the town's jogging paths. Usually she enjoyed the sights, the sounds, even enjoyed the tourists—now she wondered what the hell all the lunatics were doing out so early, and why they insisted in setting themselves up as targets.
Her truck slowed down, but not her brain. Joe's baby? Whoa, back up. Danger, Will Robinson, danger. Peril lies down that path. Where the hell did that thought come from?
Okay, if not Joe, why not Glennon? Big, strong, successful, a hunter, not a gatherer, Glennon would contribute fantastic genetic material. She already knew he was incredible in the sack. Her thighs ached as she remembered the previous night, then a replay in the wee hours of the morning. Oh, yeah, definitely great in bed.
If he's as good as he is now, while he's still damaged, what will he be like when he's fully healed and fit? She broke out in a cold sweat just considering the possibilities, then her thoughts zapped back to Joe. Her cheeks grew warm, as well as the junction between her thighs. With her panties slightly damp, she felt as if she'd somehow betrayed him. Joe, her best friend.
Don't be silly. I can't betray him if we've never slept together. There's no rule against considering possibilities, is there?
Since the Catamount Lake police station had the tallest radio tower in the area, which made for the best communications, the county legislators had deemed an office in the same building for Abigail reasonable and expedient. Her job as representative of the State of Maine, Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, with its own logo, and its own entrance, made the office necessary. To designate the separate entry, she'd placed large terra cotta pots, each containing a baby evergreen bush, on either side of the door.
Abigail pulled into the parking lot without having caused any damage to pedestrians or other vehicles by her lapses in concentration. Joe's personal vehicle, a bronze, four-wheel-drive Dodge Dakota, wasn't in its usual spot, which supported her theory that he'd been at her house after his shift ended, before heading to his own.
She parked in her designated space, wild thoughts still rattling around her head. Somehow, as easy as Lorelei made her life look, Abigail couldn't envision the whole domestic scene for herself.
Not that Lorelei is giving up her professional life, right? She's just on hiatus, right? Both Adam and Lucian had been conscripted for the Mr. Mom detail, and they'd also interviewed a boat-load of nannies before they finally settled on one for a test run.
Since Lorelei's arrival, she and Abigail had become the best of friends. In truth, Lorelei was Abigail's only female friend. When she considered that, she realized she didn't have many real friends, and most of those were men. Loads of acquaintances, because of her far-reaching job, plus a list of work-related connections—but not many true comrades. Before Glennon returned to the scene in his wannabe position as her sometime lover, she hadn't given those relationships much thought.
She had Joe, she had Lorelei. Lucian was a friend, and Adam tolerated her fairly well. Actually, since Adam barely tolerated most people, she knew she was high on his list of endurable humans. She and Mac tossed back a few beers and socialized on occasion. Nothing more than that.
Little Matthew changed life at Sanctuary. Glennon may change mine. I guess we'll see how this all plays out.